Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 25. Greg plans to study and the tree house uncovers a treasure

***

Greg was trying to sketch old James face barely holding the pencil in the hurting hand, and to google A-first free courses. There had to be some. Maybe,  immigrants. He could try to get in as a gay Polish. Or trans Hungarian. 

Or to talk to his mother finally. 

He was slowly getting to realisation he would have to do it anyway. James' influence was crawling under the skin too quick poisoning poor Scottish soul with taste, beauty, and respect. Greg caught himself in the middle of the thought he was not really going to return to the stinky room. Inevitable consequences of their ghost adventures. He has already stopped blaming fate for sending James to ruin his life. Not much to ruin, to be honest. London scums seemed a nasty dream now. And the adventure was not over yet. 

He got goose bumps when remembered he didn't have any attire for Friday theatre night. And texted Wilkins. In was Tuesday morning, James planned to return on Wednesday, so there would be a chance for...

Yeah. Getting a rental tuxedo for Greg's remaining 40 pounds. That was the plan, right.
He checked - no analysis result from the hospital as well. 

He was staring blankly at the library bookshelves  filled with treasures ready to touch. Some ancient - no, antique - edition of Dürer's drawings was the next treasure to grab. 

Then, he texted another contact.
And then - to one more scrolling through Instagram and unfollowing... damn hell of the accounts. 

And pushed the earphones in the ears when the phone suddenly turned alive with the Imagine Dragon's Believer theme. 

Which had to be changed, too.  

"Isobel! Hey, great to hear you, how are you, how's Brian? And the university?!" The joy was sincere - Greg hasn't heard his best friend's voice for ages, mostly interacting in Whats'App messages and on Instagram. If interacting at all. He felt ashamed suddenly for ditching her. His own idea he was holding on that she had ditched him suddenly began looking childish and ridiculous. "Oi! I saw your reels  on  Insta, about the trip and everything. You are such a great couple with Brian, I almost envy him to get you. Does he understand he got a treasure there..?"
It was easy to talk to her. Although Greg could sense some tension in Isobel's manner of speaking - he knew her almost as far as he knew himself. And liked her more than he liked himself, totally. And missed her as hell.

"...No, I'm not in London yet. I'm staying with, um, a friend. Hey, I must tell you everything, he is just amazing, the best damn hell of a lad you can ever meet! Well, Brian is out if question, of course, but he's already taken." Greg chuckled mindlessly grabbing the pencil to scrabble on the back of the sketchbook, his gaze wandering around the darkened paintings on the opposite wall. "He is handsome, and he's educated, and he looks fantastic! He's older than my dad, and he looks better than most of... of everybody, actually! And when he speaks, it's like you're in some Jane Austen novel but the modern one, good modern one, like that Cinderella movie..! And he lives in a house! And he has a butler, I thought he was strict at first, but then it appeared he's a total cinnamon roll with moustaches! And... no, I'm not there now, we are visiting James' aunt for two night, she has an orangery in her house, and she's also super awesome lady... hey, stop laughing there, I'm serious! We met when I, um, saw a ghost...I need to talk to you in person, darn, it's not a phone conversation..!" Greg dropped the pencil falling his back forward on the deep leather couch throwing his legs on the armrest. "Ah-h, I haven't been as happy as now, I swear, not a moment in my life! I hope to drag him in bed at least once, or I'd never forgive myself for now even trying..!"

The audible cough interrupted the flow of Greg's ecstatic blabbing. Upside-down-Sanders standing near the couch raised her brows. 

Greg coughed, too, taking his feet from the armrest as fast as possible swiping  the sketchbook with the mindless drawing on the floor.

Sanders was listening indeed. Lord Blacke was a cinnamon roll, wasn't he? And surprisingly easy to fool, as for her. Lady Longborn once was telling the story of when James was a five year old boy and his friends talked him into giving them all of his Christmas presents. He did. Although there was "a moving train set he wanted very much".

The poorly-dyed boy sounded...in love. It was a good thing. Because Sanders was sure men like James could be blind as a shitting and knew that as well, and, as she also guessed was exactly the case why they stayed alone for long. Or forever.

She glanced at the drawing stepping aside. "Lord Blacke is waiting for you in the garden, mister Bay."

"Are we going already?"

"There is a tree house, I believe, he wants to show you. With your permission, I advice against climbing up there."

Greg frowned looking embarrassed. Mumbled his thanks and disappeared in the thin air.
The eldery lady followed him with her gaze and leaned to pick up the sketchbook and leave it on the top of Vilhelm Hammershoi art book.

The gentleman on the draft resembled Lord Blacke's features a lot.

***

Greg was looking up hugging himself tightly to hide palms under the armpits. Still he was shivering. And a bit concerned. 

"Um, James, I mean, Lord Blacke...are you sure it's a good idea to get there? Sanders didn't advised it. She'd kill me if you fell. I already made a photo, please, get back!.."

He indeed made a photo - simply can't help to. It is not every day you have a chance to watch somebody well-bred and respectable climbing a rotten tree house on the maple tree. Wearing a camel sweater and a scarf. Greg would definitely take away a scarf.

"What are you up to, after all?!" He suddenly understood why his dad laid him into when Isobel and him had climbed at the top of the old barn at Gran Bri's. "I'll call for Mrs Longborn if you're not on the ground in five minutes!"

"Five minutes is more than enough!" James laughed back pushing a small door to open. It was stuck, of course, and James was not seven anymore. He was wandering if the treasure box was still there. It must have been - no grown ups were allowed up. And the house wouldn't fit them anyway, as it was quite clear now.

It took him a while to find it, though. He payed off with a splinter and a bruise, but the old tin cookie box was where he left it under the second wooden bulk from the Northern wall. And there was still a protective spell scribed over the wood. James even said the magic word before opening the hole up. It meant the magic worked.

When he jumped back from the lower branch his hair was ruffled and his sweater was covered in old leaves - and he handed Gregory the old rusty tin box.

"That's the greatest treasures I have ever had. And, as captain James the Terrible, I entitle you to it. Keep it secret though, or other pirates will come and get you."

"Oh. Ah. James the Terrible. Good it's not James Hook." Greg took the box with both reddened hands to honour the captain. The rusty cookie box had all Swedish words and ornaments all over it. Greg raised the gaze and was stunned with how younger James looked at this very moment. And pulled away a little branch out of his hair before realising what he was doing.

Sanders who was watching them through the library window nodded her approval.
And nodded again when James hugged the young man's shoulders pulling him back into warmth wrapping the frozen fingers with the scarf.